by Sam Burnell
Richard tried to place a restraining hand on Jack’s arm, but Jack, intent on presenting himself in the ring, pulled from his grasp. Before he left, he pushed Lizbet towards Richard. “Keep hold of her.”
“Stop him!” Lizbet hissed Richard’s his ear. “He’s not eaten for days, he’s going to get the Hell beaten out of him now. He should have let me go.” Lizbet yelped in pain as Richard shifted his grip to her upper arm and brought her face close to his.
“Would you have been able to stop him?” Richard demanded.
Jack’s earlier assertion that the town’s folk would not notice them had been quite wrong. As he entered the ring to declare himself a contender, his appearance caused a wave of comment throughout the crowd. Summer sun had stripped the colour from his hair and it shone now like white gold, in stark contrast to their dark Mediterranean hair. Taller by a foot than most of the men gathered there, he was of immediate interest. The lithe and agile man who had won the last fight was not stopping in for another round; his score had been settled, and collecting his winnings he joined the other spectators.
A match was soon found. Jack looked at his opponent with bitter resignation, wondering just how long he was going to last. It was immediately apparent that it was not a fight he could win. Jack, his skill blunted by lack of food and sleep, took two blows to the head before he managed defend himself. Blood welled from his lip and the crowd cheered as he staggered backward. Looking round quickly, his eyes found Lizbet’s. He made a quick signal with his hands that anyone from London would recognise and hoped she’d seen it. It was the hand signal used to warn of pickpockets. Jack hoped Lizbet understood he was suggesting that he would keep their attention while she dipped their pockets.
“Let me go.” Lizbet twisted her arm against Richard’s hold and tried to pull herself free on the hold.
Richard had seen the gesture as well. Realising that Jack was going to take a beating as a diversion, he had no choice but to let Lizbet go, muttering as he did, “Now I am a poor man stealing.”
Lizbet was gone in a moment, pushing her way through the crowd, jostling the spectators and looking very much like she was just trying to get herself to the front for a good view. The crowd roared with laugher at Jack’s poor performance in the ring. He made a comic figure, and they watched as he hid behind his hands, tried to deflect the blows with opened palms and even tried to reason with his attacker in broken Italian. Jack fervently hoped that this painful method of keeping their attention well focused, and away from the woman pressing between them, was going to work.
Lizbet was back at Richard’s side very soon, saying urgently, “What’s Italian for ‘my stupid husband’?”
When Richard did not answer, Lizbet shook his arm, repeating the question. “Hurry up, what is it?”
“Moi stupido marito,” Richard supplied a moment later, looking at her in confusion.
“Moi stupido marito,” Lizbet repeated.
Richard nodded.
Turning, Lizbet dived back into the crowd clearly intent on making it to the contestants in the ring, shouting as she went, “Moi stupido marito.” Arriving at the ring side, she yelled once more, “Moi stupido marito.”
Jack’s attacker, too stunned by the appearance of Lizbet forcing her way between them, dropped his fists. Jack threw his hands in the air, then Lizbet, reverting to English, began to scold and swear in equal measure. If the crowd had been amused before by Jack’s antics, now they were howling with laughter, as he was pulled from the ring by his wife. Lizbet continued the tirade, dragging her reluctant husband away from the fight, some of the spectators clapping him on the back as he passed them, offering their condolences. Lizbet ignoring them, continued to berate him, blindly pushing through the crowd and pulling him with her.
“You foolish man.” Lizbet’s shrill scolding voice had gone and there was real concern in it now. “Look at you.”
Jack had a split lip and a swollen eye for his pains. His opponent had landed a good few telling blows on Jack in the short time he had been in the ring. Lizbet ripped his shirt up and saw the plume of purple settling on his ribs where they too had taking a beating.
“Maybe,” Jack agreed, pulling the shirt back down and wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “At least I’ve got something in my mouth with some taste.”
“We can do better than that in a minute.” Lizbet was leading them back towards the cooking fires. The freshly acquired coins in her hand were enough for pottage and bread for each of them with some left over. The remaining stolen money she gave into Jack’s keeping. The plan was simple, they’d remain outside the walls tonight, then tomorrow they would go into the town and trade what little they had left.
†
The town of Marostica was an affluent enough place for them to trade. A quick tally in the morning showed that they had three rings, one of Jack’s and two others belonging to Richard, plus four pearls that had come from the shoes, which Lizbet still had in her pocket.
“In the right place, when we don’t look as if we stole this lot, we would get a good price,” Lizbet said, bitterly, “but here, looking like this, I doubt if we will get enough money for more than a meal each and a place to sleep.”
“Well, we can keep them and starve,” Jack said, cheerily, “or trade them, and live a little longer.” He dropped the three rings back into Lizbet’s bag along with the pearls. “We trade the pearls first – if we say we are fishermen then these are something we might have come across.”
“No-one in Christendom would believe you two are fishermen,” Lizbet scoffed, looking at Jack’s grazed face.
“I know. But the rings will brand us as thieves for sure. And although being hanged for theft would be a fitting end, it would spoil the day a little,” Jack said, darkly, instantly regretting his words.
“There would be some justice in it,” Richard replied, dropping his eyes from Jack’s.
Together they set off to see if they could find anywhere in Marostica to sell the pearls. They eventually found what they were looking for – attached to an apothecary’s was a usurer’s shop, indicated by the symbols on the faded wooden sign.
“You’ll have to go,” Jack said, pointing at his face. “I look too much like I just relieved the owner of them.”
Richard reached for the bag, and as he did, Jack saw his hand shake and abruptly changed his mind. They could not risk this going wrong.
Jack took the bag with the pearls and opened the door to the apothecary’s shop. The usurer had a small corner of the shop that was given over to his wares, all neatly stored on cramped shelves. In front of the shelves was a worn desk, one leg blocked up with a stone. Behind the desk, watching his approach with assessing eyes, was the thin and spare frame of the usurer. Jack knew that he had already been well appraised by the little man.
There was a set of small scales on the desk. Jack lifted the top brass dish from it, set it down in front of the man and into it he placed three perfect pearls from Elizabeth’s shoes. If the usurer was surprised he didn’t show it. Without meeting Jack’s eyes, he picked up each one in turn, and examined it closely before replacing it in the dish with the others.
“Quanto?” Jack asked quietly.
His accent raised the man’s eyes to his face. Jack knew the man was thinking about how low an offer he could make.
Still the man did not speak. Instead he opened a box near the scales, took from it a coin and lay it down next to the dish. It was a silver piastra. It would feed them for all for a week, but nothing else.
Jack’s eyes never left those of the usurer. “Di Più.”
The usurer’s mouth twisted into a hard thin line and there was an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Jack nodded, slowly picked up the three pearls and turned to leave. His back was to the usurer before the man spoke.
“Quanto?” the man put the question.
“Doppio,” Jack replied, without even turning back. He was still walking towards the door. He reached i
t before the man spoke again, hastily this time to stop him from leaving.
“Si, si.”
Jack, hiding a smile, turned back. In a few moments he had the two silver piastras in his hand. Leaving the apothecary’s shop he crossed the street back to Richard and Lizbet.
†
An hour later, fed and preparing to leave the town, they were back outside the apothecary’s again.
“Let me try?” Lizbet pleaded, for the second time, and then added persuasively, “What harm can it do?”
“It’s money we don’t have,” Jack replied, bluntly.
“You need to do something to help him. If you don’t, he’s not going to be of use to anyone soon.” Lizbet had her back to Richard, who was sitting with his back against the wall, staring at the ground between his feet.
Jack, casting his eyes over the forlorn figure of his brother, had to agree. There was a meeting coming soon and there was little chance of anyone taking his brother seriously in his current state. Richard was withdrawn, disinterested and seemed permanently pre-occupied.
“When you were ill, remember, Lucy gave me some medicine for you. Let me see if they have it,” Lizbet pressed Jack.
“Dwale? You’re not giving him that? Christ, he’s hardly moving as it is. If you give him dwale it’ll stop him in his tracks,” Jack said, his expression horrified.
“Not dwale. Lucy had some other medicines I gave you. It used to bring you back from wherever you were. He needs something like that now,” Lizbet continued.
Jack looked over the top of Lizbet’s head at Richard; he could remember only too well the torment and the demons of Marshalsea. Maybe, if there was something that would help, they should try it. Then his mind ran back to the practicalities of their current situation. They had so little. To risk what little they did have on an apothecary’s remedy seemed rash.
“Here, I was keeping this for myself.” Lizbet produced one last pearl that she had palmed from the small bag. “Let me use this, please.”
Jack relented. “How are you going to know what to ask for? I doubt the apothecary can understand you.”
Lizbet tapped her nose and grinned. “I know what it smells like.”
Jack returned with her and negotiated silver for the final pearl. Standing back, arms folded, he kept half an eye on his brother where he still sat, back against the way, staring in front of him while Lizbet approached the apothecary’s counter.
Behind the counter, a neatly attired short man, wearing a linen apron and a close fitting cap of the same material, watched her closely. His eyes raked over her body, earning him a scowl from Jack, where he stood near the door.
Lizbet put both her hands to her belly and twisted her face in an imitation of pain.
The little man’s face became a depiction of immediate sympathy. Rounding his counter, he reached out a hand laying it gently on her stomach.
“Does it hurt here, Senora? Or here,” he asked, in quiet Italian, as he moved his hand further up her abdomen.
Lizbet heard the tread of Jack’s boots on the boards behind her, but she did not see the look he bestowed on the apothecary that discouraged him from any further exploration.
“Just here.” Lizbet tapped her stomach again.
The little man smiling returned behind the counter and lifted down a large earthenware pot, placing it on the counter he removed the lid. “A spoonful in wine, three times a day, for the stomach pains.”
Lizbet didn’t fully understand his quick Italian, but she knew what she was looking for. Pulling the pot quickly towards her, she sniffed the contents and shook her head. The brown acrid dust inside was not what she wanted. Wrinkling her nose and replacing the stopper for him, she turned to Jack. “Tell him what I want smells like ladies’ perfume.”
Jack rolled his eyes, then addressing the apothecary, said, “She says it smells like ladies perfume.”
The apothecary’s face brightened. “Ah, ask your Senora if it is like the scent of flowers.”
“He says,” translated Jack, “does it smell like flowers?”
Lizbet turned back to the Apothecary and in her broken Italian addressed him. “Yes, like summer flowers.”
The apothecary turned, his fingers running along the packed shelves, until they arrived at the jar he was looking for. It was smaller than the first he had shown her. He lifted it down, prised the stopper from the top and tipped it so she could smell the contents.
Lizbet sniffed experimentally, and shook her head, saying, “More.”
The apothecary looked confused. “More?”
Lizbet turned to Jack. “Tell him, what I want is like this, but it smells stronger.”
Jack, his face turned away to make sure Richard had not moved, spoke to the apothecary over his shoulder, telling him what Lizbet wanted. Another jar appeared and Lizbet sniffed a second time. “This is better, but the stuff Lucy had made your eyes water when you took the top off. Don’t you remember?”
“No, I don’t,” said Jack, not at all liking to be reminded of his own incapacity.
“Ask him if he has anything that smells stronger than this,” Lizbet said over her shoulder.
The apothecary repeated Jack’s words looking slightly askance at Lizbet. Lizbet nodded enthusiastically. The apothecary returned the jar to the shelf, and this time retrieved one from under the counter and opened it for her. As soon as the lid was removed, the cloying sickly aroma met Lizbet’s nose and she smiled and nodded.
The apothecary, shaking his head, addressed Jack. “This is expensive. Ask the lady how many measures she would like?”
Jack translated.
Lizbet, placing her hand over the pot, said quickly, “All of it.”
Jack tried to object. The price was high. When he tried to argue though, she told him in no uncertain terms that it was her pearl that was buying it. The deal was finally sealed, when she pointed across the street to Richard, sat against the wall hugging his knees to his chest, and asked him, “Do you want him to stop like that?”
Jack conceded that he didn’t, and paid the apothecary. From the market they then bought bread and pale yellow cheese, Lizbet adding the sickly substance to the ale that she passed to Richard.
Chapter 4
A Change Of Fortune
It was several days after they had left the Italian town, still heading south to the coast, when Jack finally felt their luck was changing. He had woken in the morning, and was delighted to find that his snares had finally worked. Two rabbits had been caught and were still fighting to free themselves from the snares. Jack quickly dispatched them, then quickening his pace, he took them triumphantly back to Lizbet.
Holding them high and grinning, Jack said, “Get a fire lit, lass. At least we won’t start today with empty bellies.”
Lizbet, on her feet in a moment, her eyes wide, skipped towards him. “They’re a good size. Well done. Get them skinned while I get a fire going.”
Soon, Lizbet had a small smoking fire set between three stones. The two rabbits, skewered on long sticks, were set to cook in the gentle heat at the edge of the fire, Lizbet on her knees making sure neither of them burnt.
Fat dripped, sizzling into the fire, and the aroma of roasting meat was a delight they had not smelt for some time.
“A feast fit for a king,” Lizbet declared, handing the larger of the two rabbits to Jack. “It’s hot. You’ve been warned.”
Jack pulled at the roasted meat tentatively, determined not to wait.
Lizbet had rinsed down the largest of the three stones and set to cutting the other rabbit up. There was little point giving Richard anything but one small amount at a time, and she didn’t want to waste Jack’s catch. The best meat was on the breast. Cutting it away, she held it out on the edge of the blade for Richard.
“Here, take it. It will make a welcome change from bread,” she encouraged, proffering the meat a little closer. “You need to have something…”
Lizbet never finished the sentence. Richard lashed out
, sending the offered meat into the flames. Lizbet, startled, knocked the rest of the cooked rabbit from the stone into the fire. The blow had been hard enough to make Lizbet yelp, and she sat holding her arm where he had struck her.
A moment later, seeing the flames consuming the rabbit that had fallen into the fire, Lizbet screamed and sent her fists to land ineffectual blows on Richard’s head. Jack was too intent on the task of saving their meal from the flames to intervene.
“Get up. Damn you to hell,” Lizbet screamed, continuing to hit him. Richard, kneeling with his head in his hands, ignored her. “Get up! Damn you.”
She hit out one more time before standing. Taking in two whooping gulps of air, heels of her hands pressed hard into her eyes, she sobbed in despair. Her whole body shook.
The rabbit safe, Jack planted a hand on his brother’s shoulder, sending him sprawling over backwards on the ground.
“If I hit you, you won’t get up again.” Jack’s eyes were dark with fury. Rising, he said not a word to Lizbet, simply wrapping his arms around her and fixing a hard stare on his brother over her head. Richard was kneeling again, his head bowed, face covered with his hands.
Lizbet recovered herself quickly and pushed away from Jack, wiping the back of her hand across her wet face. “I’m sorry, that was my fault.”
Jack gave her a final reassuring squeeze before loosening his arms. “He’s not getting any better. Give him some more,” he instructed.